A Novel Idea
by KeepingUpDisappearances
Summary: When Daisy and her sisters' father dies, the former decides to break out of her everyday routine and do something special in his honor. With Onslow's help, she sets out to write a comedic novel inspired by Hyacinth's social exploits and disasters.
1. A New Order of Things

"Daisy, what on earth are you _doing?_" Onslow demanded, looking up from the television.

Fuelled by some unknown urge to make the dingy living room in the council house a bit more livable, Daisy was pulling out the cushions from the battered sofa. With a vacuum in tow, she removed at least two years' worth of dust, dog hair, and molding crisp crumbs from underneath the cushions.

"I decided to finally tidy up!" she shouted over the sound of the Hoover.

"Could'ye do it AFTER the Grand National?" Onslow bellowed.

"I'll be done in a minute!"

Daisy finished vacuuming and put the machine away; after that, she gathered up all the cushions and headed out of the living room, leaving Onslow, still sitting in the ancient recliner, staring after her.

"Tidy up!" Onslow muttered to himself. "What's there to tidy up for?"

Daisy, meanwhile, had slipped out of the house and was putting the cushions into a large tub of soapy water. Humming idly, she scrubbed them with a stiff brush, horrified at the amount of dirt and dust that leached out, turning the water dark. Perhaps she should have 'tidied up' long ago—or at least insisted on keeping Hyacinth's old living room suite.

"If anyone had told me," Daisy said out loud, "that I'd be cleaning that…_mess_ in there, I'd have said they were daft. I guess I'm tired of living in squalor."

A moment later, Daisy sighed. "Or maybe I need something to do."

It was odd, Daisy reflected, how empty the old council house seemed without Rose around. Rose had never been at the council house _much_—maybe a few hours each day. In the past, Rose had been either with a 'gentleman friend' or working (as she still did) at Weatherby's. But now that a happily married Rose and Emmett lived in their cozy house on the Avenue, Daisy only saw her sister once or twice a week.

Another heavy sigh escaped Daisy before she could suppress it. It had been three months since Rose and Emmett's wedding, but Daisy was still getting used to the new order of things. She was happy for Rose, she truly was, but she hadn't realized just how close she was to her youngest sister until now.

"Hey, Dais'! Any more bacon?" a familiar voice shouted from the upper window.

"I don't know!" Daisy snapped, with uncharacteristic venom in her voice. "Just slog off to the kitchen and find out for yourself."

"Aw, nice," Onslow muttered, and stalked away from the window.

Daisy managed to wrestle the soggy cushions out of the tub, and she put them to dry on a board that was laid over a long sawhorse. There, _that_ was finished. A few minutes later, Daisy was dusting and wiping everything in the living room with a vigor that even of which even Hyacinth would have approved.

…

"Now what 're you doing?" Onslow said later that afternoon, staring at Daisy.

"I'm going out to buy a new mattress," Daisy said indifferently.

"What's wrong with the one we have?"

"That _thing_ is about eight years old and quite musty! And I'm using the money I won on the Red Rum steeplechase, so you can't complain about the cost."

Onslow was about to protest—their current mattress was comfortably well-broken in (though admittedly aging)—but something in Daisy's expression made him back down. Daisy had been getting into these stubborn moods ever since Rose and Emmett's wedding, and when he made an effort to think about it, it puzzled him. Shrugging, he waved his wife out of the council house.

It was a sunny, pleasant day; Daisy cheered up a little as she drove along in Onslow's ancient tinner. There was a pleasant bite in the cool January air. Daisy's mind traveled back to the family Christmas celebration—an outstanding event. Nothing had gone wrong this time; Hyacinth had invited several people over for caroling before a large and surprisingly well-appreciated Christmas dinner and a toast celebrating the union of Rose Granger and Emmett Hawksworth—which made for an unusual mixed family, to say the least.

Rose finally had the life she had dreamed of, Daisy knew, but it would take longer to get used to her absence than Daisy had ever imagined.

Daisy successfully ordered a new mattress, and then, it being a brisk and pleasant day, she decided to take a stroll through downtown and look at the shops. She enjoyed herself quite well, and even found some décor for the living room in the council house (she had donated some unwanted items to the church bring-and-buy sale).

Feeling more cheerful, Daisy returned home with her purchases and a ticket that stated the time of the delivery of the mattress. As she drew closer to the driveway, however, her heart dropped to her feet. A coroner's van was parked outside the council house, and her family was gathered close to it. Emmett had a protective arm around Rose, and it appeared that Hyacinth, now held steadily by Richard, had almost fainted.

Daisy parked the car haphazardly in the street and leapt out, her heart pounding.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Daisy cried as she approached, though she knew what had happened.

Onslow was the first to speak. Gently taking Daisy into his arms, he affirmed what she had known but hadn't wanted to believe.

"It's your father. He had a heart attack and he didn't make it."


	2. Learning to Move On

The sky was a fittingly dark, somber gray, the air cold and damp and close, as Gerald Granger's coffin was lowered into the ground and covered with a neat level of clean dirt. Daisy and her sisters, with mutual expressions of pained grief, said a few last words over their father's grave. Each left a bouquet by the headstone, respective to their namesakes—hyacinths, daisies, violets, roses—and left, pausing to thank the vicar for doing the burial ceremony.

"Not a problem at all," Michael Evans said sympathetically.

"He was such a wonderful father, Vicar," Hyacinth wept, with an absence of her usual bragging tone. "I hope—I hope he didn't think I did too badly when I had to take Mummy's place after she died."

Michael had never imagined ever voluntarily hugging Hyacinth Bucket, but he did now, moved with pity for her and her sisters' grief.

"I'm sure you did very well, Mrs. _Bouquet_, bringing up your sisters when you were so young," the vicar said gently. Hyacinth mumbled her appreciation for his kind words through a fresh wave of tears; then, holding Richard's arm tightly, she followed her family to the parking lot. It was over, their parting with their father, and a great hole had opened up in their hearts.

It was a somber group returning to the Buckets' house. The gathering too was solemn—Hyacinth had put out some tea and biscuits, but nobody felt like eating anything—or even speaking. For the first time in months, Hyacinth was silent, no longer monopolizing a conversation. There didn't seem to be anything left to say, but they took comfort in each other's presence. Richard, Emmett and Liz of course did not have the kind of connection Hyacinth and her sisters did with Gerald, but they, too, shared in the sympathy.

Eventually, however, a trembling voice broke the grieving silence.

"I remember," Rose said, "when Father got the Navy Cross during the war…we were so…proud…even though I was too young to really understand how he had earned it."

Rose couldn't finish her sentence. With a broken sob, she buried herself in Emmett's embrace. Daisy gently stroked her sister's tousled blonde hair, as she had when Rose was just a little girl who had often expressed fear that 'Father' would never return from that dark, bitter war.

_"Daisy? Will Daddy ever come back? We'll beat the bad people soon, won't we?"_

_ "Daddy's a very brave man and he's fighting for the right side."_

_ "You didn't answer my question! I knew it! Daddy's going to die and you won't tell me! You think I'm too little to understand!"_

_ "Now, Rosie. I didn't say that. God will watch over Daddy…"_

Daisy's reverie was interrupted when a weary-sounding Hyacinth politely cued the others to leave. Daisy could hardly tear herself away from Rose, her youngest baby sister, the one she and Hyacinth and Violet had always spoiled. Rose had always been a very emotional soul, even as a child. Gerald's going off to war and their mother's death ten years later had affected her the most.

"Go along, Daisy," Rose sniffled. "Emmett and I are going home. You just take care of yourself…I think I'll try to get some sleep."

The sun had broken through the clouds by that time, but even the warmth in the light could not pierce Daisy's heavy sorrow. It was worse, for a moment, she and Onslow were standing at the door of the council house. At that moment, for _just_ a moment, Daisy forgot the parting that had just taken place hours ago.

_I hope I'm not late giving Daddy his pills,_ she thought worriedly, stepping into the front hall, but all at once a sharp pang of reality hit her. There was no need to give her father his pills. Daddy was…dead. _Dead._ Daisy forced herself to face that hard word.

"Oh, Daddy…" Daisy cried brokenly; she stumbled forward, but two supporting arms went around her.

"Pull yourself together, my Dais'," Onslow said soothingly, closing the door behind them. Daisy glanced back at him and smiled wanly. It had been a long time since her husband had been so sympathetic and perceptive of her feelings. She felt immensely grateful as he led her to the sofa and helped her sit down, as her legs were still trembling.

"Can I get anything for you, Dais'?" Onslow asked.

"If you could just sit here with me," was Daisy's weary reply.

"Of course." Onslow sat close beside her and softly kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry, Dais'. I know I wasn't too keen on your father—but if he could raise as wonderful a woman as you—he was doing something right."

Something between a laugh and a hysterical sob came from Daisy's throat.

"Are you sure you're still Onslow?" she queried, attempting a jovial tone and failing miserably. "Oh, never mind my ramblings. Thank you for being so supportive."

"Anytime," Onslow said, putting an arm around her. "I love you, my pet."

The next few weeks were the most difficult for the sisters. Each of them sometimes lapsed into thinking their father was still alive. More than once Hyacinth would ring the council house and ask how 'Daddy' was doing—only to be reminded by an emotional Daisy that their father had passed. On a few occasions, Daisy herself would report to Onslow that Daddy had just wandered out—until Onslow gently reminded her of the reality. He had 'wandered out', but would not return. Not on this side of things, at least.

It was Rose who made the first effort to break out of the grief that was keeping down their spirits.

"Come to my house, Daisy," she urged over the telephone one day. "Hyacinth and Violet are coming, too. I have an idea."

Daisy and the others arrived and the first thing they saw, when Rose beckoned them into the kitchen, was a table laden with photographs of their father. _Too soon,_ Daisy thought, looking away from their father's smiling face, but Rose, who seemed to know Daisy she was thinking, shook her head subtly.

"I brought these out for a positive reason," she said more cheerfully than she had for the last five weeks. "I thought we might make a scrapbook about Father, and write some things about him on the pages."

"That's a _wonderful_ idea," Violet said softly, and the four sisters immediately got to work, pasting photographs with an eager fervor. When that had been completed, each jotted a memory or a quip pertaining to their father in the margins of the pages.

"This is lovely," Daisy said she looked at the finished 'product' with the others. Her voice was emotional, but there was no trace of grief.

"We'd like you to have it, Hyacinth," Rose said after a quick, whispered conference with Daisy and Violet. "You kept our family going during the war.—you were such a help to Mummy, and after she died…we couldn't have held up without you."

"Now, don't exaggerate," Hyacinth gently chided. "Daisy and Violet were a great help. I couldn't have managed without their assistance."

"Well, take the scrapbook, anyway," Rose insisted, and the other sisters nodded. Hyacinth hesitated for a moment, but accepted the offer.

"Very gracious of you, dears," she said gratefully. "It'll always be here for any of you to peruse."

Two months passed, and the grief slowly lessened its tight grip on the sisters' hearts, and each vowed pluckily to keep going on. Gerald, they agreed over a sisters-only candlelight supper, would not have wanted them to stay in a morass of grief over his death. Hyacinth continued her attempts to climb the social ladder, and Violet struck out on her own (opening up a candy shop near the town hall), despite Hyacinth's desperate attempts to stop her. Violet had divorced Bruce—with remarkably amiable spirit on both sides—and had been awarded the house, though not the Mercedes. Rose helped Emmett in coaching his music students in a musical version of _A Wrinkle in Time._

As for Daisy? One afternoon, while cleaning out the bedroom, she had found some diaries from five years before. Settling on the bed, she began to read them with great amusement. Halfway through the first diary, she suddenly burst into a peal of laughter that startled Onslow, whom was still asleep.

"Aye, Dais'! Have you gone batty?" he said drowsily, sitting up in bed and staring at her.

"Oh, listen to this, Onslow, listen!" Daisy exclaimed, and she began to read:

_June 26__th_

_Got to witness another of Hyacinth's attempts at social approval go wrong. Onslow and I were at Stoneborough Racetrack*, and there, at the rails—but in front of the better seats— were Hyacinth, Richard and a rather smartly dressed couple._

"_Yes, I met the Queen at the Grand National last year," Hyacinth said in that airy voice of hers. Richard started to say that she'd only _waved_ to the Queen, but Hyacinth stomped on his foot without much subtlety._

"_It was quite an honor to meet her," Hyacinth said again, and the couple looked rather bemused. They could tell that Hyacinth was polishing the truth. The woman, who was probably the man's wife, spoke up, saying something about the Queen's Grand National entry, Mercy in Darkness._

"_Grand little mare, wasn't she?" the woman asked, and poor naïve Hyacinth agreed. "The best mare in the Queen's stable."_

_Onslow started to laugh, but I stopped him just in time. Hyacinth would just die if she saw us just feet from the better spot at the rail. Besides, this was turning into an amusing conversation._

"_I was _so_ hoping that 'Mercy' would make it to this race," the woman commented, referring to the upcoming race, the Silver Night Handicap. It was only a 'grade three' race, and 'Mercy' was much more talented than that._

"_Oh, yes," Hyacinth said grandly. "I hear that the Drummonds have a horse in this race. Very fine people, you know. From the Grange. I've met Mrs. Drummond. She helped me clean the church hall, very gracious for someone of her status to do."_

"_You're a funny woman, ma'am," the man said, and Hyacinth looked startled._

"_Funny?"_

"_Pretending you met the Queen, when she stayed in the best seats, carefully guarded. Pretending that you think Mercy is a mare. Trying to make us think that _you_ think the Silver Night is a top stakes race. Even saying that the Drummonds are at the heart of society and horse racing, when they haven't had a winner in any race for three years, and scandalized the upper class by—as you say—volunteering in rather…_common_ causes, as worthy as they might be."_

_I suppose I shouldn't have been so amused at my sister's humiliation, but her expression was just so funny! And she pretended that she thought the couple was joking, even though she knew then that they'd been leading her on! Oh, Hyacinth, when will you learn?_

"I remember that!" Onslow roared. "Oh, the look on her face! Even Richard was trying not to laugh!"

"Oh, sometimes Hyacinth is 'too good to be true', as the adage goes!" I exclaimed. "I mean, the things that happen to her when she tries to impress people! It doesn't seem possible! It sounds like something from a sitcom!" Daisy paused. "Hey-ey, Onslow! I have a brilliant idea!"

"Like making a bacon butty?" Onslow jested. "I think I wore off several calories just laughing at your Hyacinth's expense—again!"

"No, silly," Daisy said, grinning. "You're pretty good with words, and I'm much too familiar with our Hyacinth! We could write a novel inspired by all her social events that have gone wrong!"

…**.**

_*Stoneborough Racetrack is fictional, made for this story because there are no tracks near Hyacinth's town._

_There you have it! I hope to have a new chapter up by New Year's Eve. Feliz Navidad!_


	3. The Story Begins

Daisy and Onslow began to plan their book one pleasantly rainy day in February. With a good supply of hot cocoa and bacon butties at hand, the first thing they conferred over was the 'working title', per Onslow's insistence. He couldn't write a book if there was no title first.

"It's going to feature a woman whose attempts at impressing social circles fail miserably, so it has to have a relevant title," Daisy said, tapping a pen against a sheet of paper. They were sitting at a large desk in the tidy yet still homey living room.

"Hmm, what about _False Impressions of the Social Wannabe_?" Onslow mused after he had started on a second bacon butty.

"Hmm, maybe," Daisy said slowly. She stared at the blank sheet of paper, as if hoping the perfect title would magically appear.

"It'll only be a working title," Onslow said sensibly.

"It _is_ somewhat catchy," Daisy replied. "We'll try it, for now. The important thing is to start on the story itself."

Daisy had one of her diaries on the desk; picking it up, she read more of her accounts about Hyacinth's _soirees _and what had come of them. She laughed especially at the time that Hyacinth's 'riverside picnic with riparian entertainments' had gone wrong. Oh, poor Hyacinth—it had gone so wrong, and she'd ended up looking like a drowned dog—but it really had been hilarious.

"What I've heard," Daisy said, "is to write a character profile first—what your main protagonist looks like, how she acts, how she talks—"

"Oh, we _already_ know how Hyacinth talks," Onslow groaned.

"Yes, but we'll have to tweak things j-uust a little, to keep it from being too obvious. And what should she look like?"

"What should who look like?" Onslow said, puzzled.

"Um, our main character, of course," Daisy answered.

Onslow frowned. "I think, to avoid confusion, this 'main character' needs a name. What about…Lily?"

"A flower name? Too obvious," Daisy said. She mused for a moment, and then snapped her fingers. "What about 'Florence' for a first name? Aesthetically a bit 'grand' for our lovely protagonist."

Onslow approved of 'Florence', and then began to puzzle over a last name for Florence. It had to be something that Florence would want to 'polish', just as Hyacinth insisted that her married name was '_Bou-quet'_ (accent on the first syllable). At last he took a swig of cocoa and then said to Daisy:

"What about Fontaine?"

Daisy started to shake her head. "It sounds a bit _too_ classy. Hy—I mean, Florence, couldn't complain about that."

"She could," Onslow said. Imitating Hyacinth's voice surprisingly well, he went on, "'It's not _Fontaine_, it's _Fon-TAINE_ Accent on the second syllable, nice and airy.'"

Daisy gave Onslow an approving look and smiled. There; they had a working title and their main character. Daisy left it to Onslow to write out a character profile while she cooked up another pot of cocoa. Writing a novel was hard work. So much thinking! But they were quite enjoying it. Would it be good enough to be published? As she heated the milk for the cocoa, Daisy fantasized about the book being on the _London Observer_'s bestseller list. _False Impressions of the Social Wannabe_ by Daisy and Onslow Taylor! And then they would be signing books all over England…

A splatter of scalding milk hit Daisy's hand, and she looked guiltily into the pot. She'd almost cooked the milk too long; it was getting a skin on the top. She stirred it again, and luckily it was still smooth. She mixed in the cocoa powder, cursing herself for doing one thing in her mind and another with her hands.

"Have you got it down all right, Onslow?" Daisy asked, bringing two steaming mugs into the living room.

"Just finished," Onslow said, and Daisy read the character profile:

_Florence Fontaine_

_Appearance: Florence has perfectly coiffed hair that is a dark blonde fading slightly to gray. She is of average build. Her personality is pretentious and lofty (though she is kind at heart), though it may be due only to her unceasing desire to be socially prominent. She goes to great lengths to impress people (mainly 'important' people) and organizes grand social affairs—only to have them fall flat, often with embarrassment on her part. She also has a habit of bragging—often about her Royal Danish flatware "with an elegant hand-etched handles", or her daughter, Dorothy, who is "doing_ so_ well at a prominent university."_

Daisy grinned. "Perfect!" she said in approval, but a moment later, she looked up and stared at Onslow. "We can't have a story without supporting characters! We'll have to base them off of people Hyacinth knows—including ourselves!"

"Definitely, Dais'! One of the characters should be devastatingly handsome, cheerful and with a magnetic personality…"

Daisy giggled. "I _do_ think we should include the vicar in this story. Oh, poor thing, he's probably the most affected by Hyacinth, with the exception of Elizabeth, of course."

Onslow stared at Daisy with an expression of disbelief. "I meant _myself!_ I was just being humorous!"

"Oh…" Daisy faltered, blushing. "I didn't mean…it's nothing against you, Onslow. You'll always be the only man in my life. But the vicar _does_ look rather fine."

"Oh, never mind, Dais'," Onslow muttered, but he did laugh good-naturedly. "I know, I'm bone idle, work shy and out of condition. But we'll tweak things a little—the novel version of me will be a bit wealthier, and unmarried."

For the next half hour, Daisy wrote a character profile for the 'real' Onslow's alter-ego, Ryan Pearce, while Onslow himself went to the nearest pub to bring back an early supper of fish and chips and beer. When he came back with the food, Daisy set it out on a nearby table and demanded that her husband read 'Ryan Pearce's' profile at once. An expectant, amused grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as he read it.

_Ryan Pierce_

_Ryan Pearce is Florence's cousin. Though he appears oafish to some, a lifetime of dedicated work establishing the most successful and ritzy hotel in England, the Rivergate, has given him quite a comfortable life—and social prominence. However, Florence only uses his name in passing when trying to impress people. If people knew that her cousin lived in a very 'common' middle-class neighborhood and made friends with the socially less fortunate—and dressed less than casually! Ryan has thick, medium blonde hair and is somewhat plump, but quite dashing._

Onslow nearly choked laughing when he finished the last sentence.

"That's splendid, Dais'! Brilliant! Now, _I'll_ write a character profile based on _you!_"

Daisy smiled. "I can't wait to read it!"

_Holly Bailey_

_Holly Bailey is Florence's second-oldest sister. A casual but respectable person, she is actually well-liked by the 'important' people that Florence wants to impress. This makes Florence somewhat jealous and she tends to keep Holly 'under wraps' from those who don't know the two sisters yet—hoping that someone will like her better than Holly. Florence is actually deeply attached to her sister, but her attempts at rising socially occasionally clouds her relationship. Holly has dark blond hair, like her older sister, but has grayed prematurely._

"Hey!" Daisy protested playfully, "Hyacinth _dyes_ her hair, that's why it's always brown. I'm more…_natural_."

Onslow smiled. "Ah, I think you look fine. Now, let's eat and start on the story again tomorrow."

* * *

Another chapter for my loyal fans. I hope y'all enjoy it. I'm having so much fun writing this story.


	4. Finding Inspiration

It seemed impossible, Daisy later reflected, that it could take almost two weeks to write the first chapter, but she and Onslow rewrote it at least ten times. They both wanted a good introduction to the story, and at last they had it. Daisy and Onslow had also decided to write in the supporting characters as they went along; it was too tasking, and fruitless, to spend a lot of time thinking of characters in advance and writing more profiles.

Daisy read part of the first chapter aloud, just to see what it sounded like:

_Chapter I: Florence_

_Florence Fontaine stood in the dining room of the house she shared with her husband, William, and scrutinized the table settings. Her ivory-colored china was perfectly arranged, and her Royal Danish flatware was perfectly polished. The chandelier that hung over the table was neatly dusted, and the formal chairs were as brightly polished as the silverware._

"_William!" Florence called out to her husband. William came hurrying in. He knew very well to heed her as quickly as possible._

"_Well, what do you think?" Florence demanded._

"_About what?" William asked, puzzled._

"_The _table setting!"_ Florence said, as if this should be obvious._

"_Oh, it's…nice," William said hastily._

"_Nice?" Florence said, a dangerous tone in her voice. William backtracked quickly. "Very nice. Quite grand. Excellent polishing."_

"_Thank you. I_ am_ known for the quality of my polishing," Florence said airily. "Now, I_ must_ have Leah come here for tea and I'll ask her what she thinks. She is a very good friend of mine and she's always honest with me."_

_William hid a smile. Their neighbor, Leah, never really lied to Florence, but the latter had a profound effect on her, and Leah always managed to find some way of giving Florence the approval she expected…_

…

"You are getting into something decent and coming with me. And brush your hair!" Rose ordered a week later, staring levelly at Daisy, who stood in the doorway of the council house, looking rather perturbed. Daisy's fingers were smudged with typewriter ink (it was more efficient to type than to write by hand), and her hair was rumpled.

"We're busy writing the novel," Daisy said irritably.

"And it's making you quite edgy," Rose said bluntly.

"Sometimes an artistic mind can become temperamental," Daisy said, still irritated.

Rose again looked levelly at her sister. "You look like a wreck. Get dressed, brush your hair and come out for some fresh air and some decent food. I just know you've been living on takeout. Besides, you'll get burned out and then you won't want to write at all."

Daisy frowned. "And what about Onslow? He hardly gets sleep anymore and he's even more of a slob than ever! He kept rewriting the second chapter _all day_ yesterday."

Rose smiled knowingly. "It's already taken care of. Emmett will be coming along a little later to drag that oaf—sorry, Daisy—out for a drink."

Shrugging her shoulders in defeat, Daisy obeyed her younger sister. A few moments later, she came out, looking much neater, and she actually looked more cheerful, admitting to Rose that she could use a break. When queried, Daisy suggested taking their luncheon at Lin's Garden, an excellent Chinese restaurant.

"Do you really think it could be published?" Rose asked a short time later, savoring a bowl of won-ton soup. Daisy looked up from a large serving of sweet and sour shrimp and smiled broadly.

"I think it might, but we have to finish writing it first."

Rose then steered the conversation away from the subject, and was telling about the disrespectful customers she sometimes encountered at Weatherby's department store. Daisy listened to the diatribe, sometimes staring in disbelief. She wondered at Rose's patience in working retail, but the latter assured her that she was just 'venting'—most of the customers were very friendly, or at least cordial.

The food and conversation did help clear Daisy's head, and she went back to the council house, feeling more awake and cheerful. Onslow was there too, having just returned from his and Emmett's visit to the pub. Both agreed to take a break from writing for a few days, which proved very sensible. A week later, they returned to their project with an impressive vigor.

Gradually a plot was sketched out, and they took turns writing. Daisy was best at dialog, while Onslow, who'd always been fascinated with words and grammar, was excellent at narrative, occasionally to a fault. Some of his prose was so 'grand' the Daisy would laugh—in a friendly way, of course—and a sometimes begrudging Onslow would edit it.

…

"Are you sure this is right," Onslow said one sunny morning, "baiting him just to get more inspiration for 'his' character?"

"When our book's published, he'll love the amusing twist on Hyacinth's personality and behavior. Now stop fussing and drive to the vicarage, please."

Onslow frowned, but started the ignition, and his ancient automobile started with its usual backfire.

"Maybe, if our book is published, we'll make enough to get a new car," Daisy said. "So we'll need all the inspiration we can get, to make our novel outstanding."

"I still say it isn't quite charitable…but we _did_ go through a lot of trouble to set this up."

"You mean _I_ did. It was my idea," Daisy teased.

Onslow parked the car one street over from the vicarage, and then, like spies, they crept around the perimeter of the vicarage grounds and hid themselves behind a hedge, where they had a good view of the front door.

"Hyacinth should be here at any moment," Daisy said, giggling.

"Shh!" Onslow said. "There she is."

Hyacinth, immaculately arrayed in a bluebonnet-print dress (she still fondly remembered her and Richard's visit to Texas), marched up to the home where the vicar and his wife lived and rang the doorbell. A few moments later, the door opened and the vicar himself stood there.

"Yes, how can I help—" he began to say, and then stood frozen in alarm. "Mrs. Buck—I mean, 'Bouquet', what are you doing here?"

Daisy and Onslow could tell from Hyacinth's grand, patronizing tone that she was wearing the ingratiating smile that Michael hated.

"Don't be shy, Vicar. I appreciate you calling and asking for my help."

"Calling? Help?" Michael said, baffled.

Onslow couldn't help himself; he started to laugh, but Daisy shoved him. "_Quiet!_" she hissed.

"You said you needed help planning the next senior citizen's outing."

The look on the vicar's face sorely tested Daisy's ability to control her laughter. This time it was Onslow who gave her a warning shove, and she bit down hard on her lip so that she would remain silent. The pair waited expectantly.

At that moment Michael's wife appeared and edged past him. "Why, Mrs. 'Bouquet'," she said cordially, "how are you doing?"

The vicar started to speak, but Hyacinth interrupted him. "I'm quite well. Your husband called and asked for my help planning the next senior citizen's outing. Now he says he didn't. But he needn't fib. I know he must feel a bit overwhelmed, speaking to someone who has such skill in arranging social gatherings—he almost didn't sound like himself on the telephone—but I assure you, Alice, I'm a very humble woman and dedicated to this parish. He needn't feel intimidated by my years of experience."

Alice exchanged a bewildered glance with her husband. "It must have been some practical joke," she said hastily, "though I can't imagine who would do that. He's been occupied writing his sermon this morning."

"Yes, what she said," Michael intoned.

"Ah, yes," Hyacinth said doubtfully. "Well, I don't see why you should feel nervous about wanting my assistance, but if you change your mind, do call me again."

"But I didn't-" Michael started to say, but Alice gave him a look that clearly said_ there's no point in arguing._

Hyacinth walked to the Evanses' driveway, where a patient Richard was sitting in the driver's seat, listening to the whole exchange. The Buckets left and the vicar and his wife stood on the doorstep for a moment, stunned.

"I didn't call her," Michael protested.

"Yes, I know, dear," Alice said patiently.

"I'm just wondering what heartless idiot would pull this prank."

Alice glanced sternly at her husband. "Michael, that's not very charitable. You sound as if you're describing a murderer."

The vicar's voice drifted back as he followed Alice into their home. "I'm not perfect, Alice. This was quite upsetting, and whoever did this wasn't quite nice…"

When the door shut behind them, Daisy and Onslow snuck away, grinning. Oh, perhaps it had been an unfair trick—but they had such good material now! Daisy also praised Onslow for his ability to do a fairly good impression of Michael's voice. They couldn't help it; they had a good laugh, thought they felt very guilty.

The weeks went by, and Daisy and Onslow grew more and more confident about their novel; perhaps a little _too_ confident, as they both kept discussing what they would do with their money and fame 'when' _False Impressions of the Social Wannabe_ became a national, or perhaps international, bestseller.

However, there was one thing that they'd taken to heart; Rose's advice to take a break regularly so that they wouldn't eventually tire of writing their story. Daisy also became more well-read than she'd ever been; she read various novels (not just paperback romances), to get an idea of characterization, pacing, and dialog.

"We can do it, Onslow," Daisy said gleefully one evening, when they had finished a fifth chapter. "We can get this published, and when we do…"

* * *

Well, there you go, another chapter! I'll probably heed Rose's advice :-D and take a break for a couple of weeks, but I promise I'll be back!


	5. Insider Information

Writing a book was harder than Daisy and Onslow had thought in the beginning. Yes, they knew it wouldn't be _easy_—but getting characters just right and making them believable was a task in itself, and trying to move the story along without the plot wearing thin—that was a challenge! The plot itself was excellent; it involved 'Florence', disappointed by the failure of her smaller social gatherings, planning a huge event that would embarrass her spectacularly—if she ignored the warning signs of impending doom.

"It's a good plot, but we need to flesh out the story more," was Daisy's correct analysis. "But work the material into the story so that it doesn't add to much filler."

"Don't start a sentence with a prepositional phrase," Onslow had said to Daisy's comment.

"We're not writing the book at the moment; we're just conversing," Daisy said, laughing.

"Oh, right," Onslow admitted sheepishly. "Your Rose is right—we need to be careful not to get too mired in writing!"

"Yes, but right now we need to figure out how to get inspiration for our novel," Daisy pointed out.

Onslow suggested that the two of them talk to people that Hyacinth knew, to get some insight into others' views of the 'Candlelight Queen'. The first person they consulted was the spunky, elderly heiress—Mrs. Fortescue. She, Daisy, and Onslow gathered in their favorite pub one very overcast day and spent a comfortable hour conversing while cold rain lashed against the windows.

"Tell me, Mrs. Fortescue," Daisy said, sitting with her pencil at the ready. "Tell me about the time you first met Hyacinth. What happened, and what did you think?"

The elderly heiress smiled. "How honest should I be?"

"Just be honest…I know you wouldn't be mean."

"Well," Mrs. Fortescue began, as if telling an epic saga, "It all started one bright Saturday morning…"

Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Fortescue took a large swallow of beer and asked of Daisy, "Did I do all right? Did you get what you needed?"

Daisy assured her that she had excellent material. Indeed, the writing on the notes was slightly shaky, for Daisy had been laughing shamelessly at Mrs. Fortescue's story, earning some odd looks from the people around her.

"It's not that there's anything _wrong_ with your sister," Mrs. Fortescue said with sincerity. "She just has this odd, irritating naiveté about her, thinking she's someone incredibly important. I think it's her total control over her poor husband that she could improve upon. As in, stop."

"It's odd, but I think he really does love her," Daisy reflected. "I guess I can't fully understand it, but not everyone can understand why I love an old oaf like Onslow."

"I choose to take that as a compliment," Onslow interjected.

"Maybe so," Mrs. Fortescue concurred. "And really, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have met you two and Rose. Well, I have to run off—need to see my damn lawyers again. It seems they don't know how to write up my will if I'm not hanging over their shoulders."

"We'll let you know how our novel is going along," Daisy assured the heiress.

"And don't speed, my lady!" Onslow teased. "You wouldn't want to lose your license again and have to ask Hyacinth and Richard for another ride!"

…

"I can't believe I'm going voluntarily to one of your Hyacinth's candlelight suppers," Onslow grumbled, struggling into a suit coat.

"I'm still getting over the fact that invites us now," Daisy said. "She's seemed a little more relaxed in that aspect ever since Rose married Emmett."

"Well, there'd better be something to put in our book tonight. Staying in your Hyacinth's dining room and listening to her talk—and sing!—ought to inspire something."

"I'm sure we'll get something," Daisy said cheerfully. "Now come along, we don't want to be late!"

Hyacinth's place settings were as immaculate as ever, and flickering candlelight danced over the guests' faces and the perfectly polished wine glasses. After everyone was settled at the table, Hyacinth shrilly commanded Richard to "bring the appetizers". He quickly obeyed, and the guests were presented with 'eggplant and carrot puffs', which were about as appetizing as they sounded.

As soon as the food had been served, the Major commandeered Hyacinth's attention—though the good lady, in all honesty, did not particularly welcome it. Daisy and Onslow turned their attention to the conversations that were being exchanged around the table.

Alice Evans was talking animatedly to Rose (which at one time would have been impossible to imagine—in Rose's distant and regretted past, she'd 'pursued' the vicar, without success). A scrap of their conversation caught Daisy's and Onslow's attention immediately.

"…can't imagine who would do it. He or she would have to know"— here Alice lowered her voice, but Daisy and Onslow were close enough to discern the words—"how much he dislikes Hyacinth."

Even in the flickering candlelight, Daisy and Onslow could see a queer expression flash over Rose's face; she knew who'd pulled the trick, but managed to say, somewhat lamely: "Quite mysterious!"

"I must confess that it _was_ rather amusing," Alice said, to which her husband protested, "Now, Ally, how can you say that?"

"Well, it was," Alice said primly.

When Hyacinth managed to throw off the Major's advances, she took over the conversation, and there was plenty of inspiration for the novel. Hyacinth seemed especially keen on bragging that night, mentioning how she had met 'his Lordship' after an estate sale at a nearby manse*. Daisy and Onslow noted, with great amusement, that Hyacinth did not mention how gloriously drunk she had become after sharing 'Dowager Lady Ursula's Homemade Gooseberry Wine' with 'his Lordship' and Richard.

"He realized what a woman of quality I am, and invited Richard and me for a drink at his very own mansion," Hyacinth said airily.

"He was a nice fellow," Richard opined. "Quite gracious of him to enjoy a drink with us."

"Well, he _did_ recognize class," Hyacinth said proudly, and then 'entertained' the guests by singing 'Moon River'.

To the relief of everyone but the Major, the evening came to a close earlier than usual, and Daisy's and Onslow's heads were swimming with ideas. They did get a slight surprise, however, as they left; the vicar halted them at the door (when Hyacinth was out of earshot) and said to Onslow:

"You used to work with electrics, didn't you, Onslow?"

"Yes," Onslow answered, puzzled about the rather offhand inquiry.

"Is it possible to trace a phone call back to the caller?"

This reply took Onslow aback and he answered slowly: "No."

"Pity!" Michael exclaimed. "I was just curious because, well, did you hear the story that Alice was telling Rose?"

"Er, yeah, that was a pretty unexpected trick, wasn't it?" Onslow said, hoping that his expression didn't give him away.

"I was just wondering if I would find out who did it," the vicar said, smiling wryly. Daisy and Onslow must have looked worried, for Michael continued:

"Don't look so alarmed, you two. I wouldn't do anything _uncharitable_—I'd just find out the reason for that prank."

…

Three months passed, and the rough draft of the book was halfway finished. Daisy and Onslow's bedroom now looked like a stationary shop; they had set up a table next to the desk, and it was covered with sheets of paper bearing notes, annotations, and even a few illustrations, just for fun, which Rose had sketched.

"I've been thinking, Dais'," Onslow said reflectively one night, "there are some people who actually _like_ your Hyacinth—"

"_I _like Hyacinth," Daisy protested.

"Well, I meant like her as in they really don't see her faults, or think she's everything."

"Oh, I see what you're saying," Daisy answered. "Hmm…the only ones I can think of are the Major and that Commodore person she told me about."

"We ought to talk to the Major. We should to throw in a character like him for some variety."

Daisy agreed to the idea with alacrity. Three days later they were driving to the Major's rambling country estate; he already waiting at the door when they arrived, and was smiling eagerly as the crisply dressed pair approached.

"I'm so excited that you wish to interview me about the _delightful_ Hyacinth 'Bouquet'," the Major said, hurrying them through the front hall and a large study.

"I'm glad she's finally being recognized as a community figurehead," the Major continued as Daisy and Onslow settled onto ornate velvet chairs. "Delia Wheelwright hasn't got anything on _her._"

"Oh, yes!" Daisy said, and went on casually, "Of course we're not _real_ reporters, but this opinion submission should get in the paper. It ought to."

"Indeed!" the Major agreed, thinking that Daisy was being serious. Imagine the sumptuous Mrs. 'Bouquet' in the papers! He quickly launched into a monologue about why he admired Hyacinth. Some of his phrases made Daisy cringe: 'classy minx', 'alluring hostess', and 'inviting lady' among others. Onslow, however, repeatedly had to turn a chuckle into a cough.

"Is your husband ill, Mrs. Taylor?" the Major asked.

**...**

Through various sly ways and clever planning, Daisy and Onslow got much material for the book—more than needed, really, but it didn't hurt to have extra material. Oddly enough, Emmett, who once would have been a fount of stories, was now a little more defensive of his sister-in-law; still, he did provide some humorous anecdotes, as did Liz. They even managed to track down Mrs. Councilor Nugent, whose view of Hyacinth was so stark that Daisy frequently had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something uncharitable. She adamantly left Mrs. Nugent out of the story.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun," Onslow had wheedled at the time. He always liked for there to be a real protagonist in the story.

"No," Daisy said firmly. "We want to keep this light-hearted and good-natured."

"Even comedic novels can have protagonists!"

"Sorry. Not happening," Daisy had said with an air of authority to match that of Hyacinth's.

Months passed, and eventually Daisy and Onslow decided that the rough draft was ready to be sent to various publishers. One crisp autumn afternoon, which Daisy had spent cleaning and organizing the council house yet again, Onslow prepared go to the post office to photocopy the manuscript.

"Dais', would you bring down our fine novel?" Onslow called up the stairs, idly turning his tinner's key over and over in his hand and wondering what kind of car he'd get if (or _when_, in his mind) the book would be published.

"Yeah, one moment!" Daisy replied.

Several seconds passed as Onslow waited impatiently. Then:

"Where did you put it? It's not in the desk drawer! "

"I didn't move it!" Onslow shouted. "You put it away while I went out to fetch dinner last night!"

"Well, maybe you took it out and forgot!" Daisy exclaimed. "Oh, never mind! Come up here and help me find it!"

Onslow went up the stairs and strode over to the desk in their bedroom, where Daisy was frantically checking every drawer. Onslow looked under the pillows and blankets on their beds, on the bookshelf where he kept his large collection of science textbooks—but it was nowhere.

The two combed over the entire council house again, but the manuscript was mysteriously _gone_. They even checked the dustbins, but it wasn't there.

"This is bizarre," Onslow groaned. "I wonder if one of us accidentally tossed it out with _last_ week's rubbish collection. Oh, God, that _couldn't_ have happened! It would be unjust! It would be wrong!"

Daisy sat down heavily in a nearby chair and clenched her fists in frustration. "I wonder if it was me. I'm so bent on a clean house lately!"

With a regretful smile, Onslow shook his head and said as cheerfully as possible, "It could have been either of us." Then, as a non-sequitor: "We're out of beer. I think I need to replenish our supply."

At that moment, Daisy and Onslow's shaggy wolfhound, Melly, came trotting in from where she'd been sleeping in the warm kitchen. And there, in her mouth was a pack of paper stapled together!

"_Melly!_" Daisy exclaimed in disbelief. "Melly, that's our manuscript! Drop it right now!"

Melly obeyed quickly, but wagged her tail in an ingratiating way.

"Melly, if you ruined it—" Onslow said, picking up the manuscript. Luckily there was just a little ink smudging on the left-hand margins.

"We bring you in where it's warm, and this is what you do?" Daisy said. Melly gave a short, dismissive bark and sauntered back to the kitchen, and Onslow left immediately to photocopy his and Daisy's pet project.

…

The very day after the manuscript had been recovered, envelopes containing copies of it were sent out to various publishers. The authors couldn't wait to hear back. Of course, they didn't expect immediate replies, much less an agreement to publish, but still, one could hope.

Replies did come, however, and the first one was short and to the point.

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Taylor: Thank you for submitting your manuscript of_ False Impressions of the Social Wannabe. _While an interesting storyline, this is not the kind of novel that we at Maple Leaf Books will find successful at this time. Good luck in all your endeavors._

Daisy and Onslow did not take this 'rejection letter' too hard, for it was only one publisher; there were others who might pick up this humorous novel, might see the brilliance of it. Of course, there was a thought in the back of their minds that it might not be as good as they thought it was—after all, _they_ were the authors, and it might have made them rather biased against opposite opinions.

Now that the novel was finished, life seemed a little lackluster, but there was the excitement of waiting for replies from publishers, even if they knew better than to expect too much.

And the replies kept coming in.

Crescent Publications. Whitley Books. Yardley Fiction Press. Readers' Gateway, and fifteen other publishers—all refusals. There was only one publisher that not answered, five months after the manuscripts had been sent out. Daisy and Onslow tried not to be too disappointed. Fleur D'Lis Books was a small publisher; maybe they had to be more selective.

"Well, we tried, Dais'," Onslow said, on the day they'd given up hope of ever getting an answer, much less publication.

At that moment a shuffling sound announced that the mail had been pushed through the letter slot. Onslow walked into the hall and listlessly picked up the mail. There was no point in expecting anything anymore, he thought gloomily, but as he picked up the pile of mail, the top envelope caught his eye.

The return address was for Fleur D'Lis books!

"We got a letter from the Fleur D'Lis folks, Daisy," Onslow said, shuffling into the living room. Daisy looked up from crocheting (her new hobby) and shrugged.

"Well, open it," she said listlessly.

"I know, I shouldn't get excited," Onslow admitted. He opened the envelope haphazardly and yanked out a letter—a long one. The first paragraph caught his eye, and he stared.

"Dais'! Dais', come here!" he gasped.

Daisy looked at the letter and her eyes widened.

"I don't believe it," she said breathlessly.

* * *

Well, here's the latest installment—I'll have more up (probably two more chapters) next week.


	6. Waiting on a Dream

Daisy read the letter aloud in a shaky voice:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Taylor,_

_We regret the lateness of our reply regarding your manuscript of _False Impressions of the Social Wannabe. _Fleur D'Lis books has recently expanded and thus had a backlog of submissions. We are pleased to tell you that we are very interested in this novel and will, with your permission, publish it under our new imprint, Lifedays Books, which will feature humor/comedy fiction. See below for technical and legal details and contact information…_

"We're getting published, Dais'," Onslow said faintly. "We did it."

…

Two more months passed, and _False Impressions of the Social Wannabe _was in London bookshops, though only for a limited run. Daisy and Onslow did not delude themselves into thinking that there might be enough success that the printing would be extended; rather, they were just more than content to be published at all—how many beginning writers could say that?

Enormously pleased at the result of their hard work, they sent complimentary copies of the book to everyone who'd given them inspiration or help—whether it had been directly or indirectly. Rose organized a congratulatory dinner for the authors at a locally famous restaurant.

It was a merry, laughing group that had gathered to celebrate the authors and the book's publication. There were only two who hadn't accepted the invitation to the party—the outraged Major, and Mrs. Councilor Nugent, who had been remorselessly blunt when giving her opinion of the book.

"It's rife with weak, predictable humor, and the plot is positively flimsy," she'd said, but Daisy and Onslow accepted the negative reviews as well as they did the positive ones.

The Major's reaction had been rather scathing

"So, Florence is inspired by Mrs. 'Bouquet', aye?" he had said bitterly when calling Rose in order to decline the invitation. "I say you didn't give her a fair shake. I can see that 'General Sherman' is based on myself—he's the only one who can see how lovely Florence—or Mrs. 'Bouquet', if you will—is!"

Rose had protested that it was all in good humor, but the Major uttered a few choice words before slamming down the receiver on his end.

The group gathered that night, however, had all enjoyed the story and spoke highly of it. Daisy and Onslow were pleased, and felt quite humble. They knew that their friends would never patronize them, so what they said really was what they thought. Mrs. Fortescue had even brought her copy of _False Impressions_ along and asked for an autograph!

"You really want an autograph? You like it that much?" Onslow exclaimed.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't," the heiress said simply.

"I'm telling _everyone_ about this book," Emmett said while Daisy and Onslow were signing their names in Mrs. Fortescue's book. "I'm spreading the word! And when you two are rich"—Emmett grinned at Daisy and Onslow—"you can pay me back for publicizing your novel!"

"Did Hyacinth and Richard get a copy yet?" Liz inquired. Onslow was making his way through at third plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes, so Daisy answered, albeit with a rather chagrined expression. She said, slowly:

"Yes, I think we'll give them a copy. We've been procrastinating—or rather, I have. Onslow is letting my decide, since she's my sister. I know I should've sent one by now, but I'm a little worried about Hyacinth's reaction! I guess it's irrational—we wouldn't have written the book if we thought it might sound spiteful!"

"I don't see why Hyacinth should be offended," Liz said reassuringly.

Hoping to steer Daisy's mind away from her worries, Violet asked the present company if everyone had read the entire book. Everyone said they had—except for the vicar. Michael explained, almost apologetically, that an inter-parish conference had kept him busy for the past week, but assured Daisy and Onslow that he certainly was looking forward to reading the last few chapters.

"You really will enjoy the whole book, Michael," Alice said cheerfully, and then with a significant glance toward the authors, she added:

"There's one part in particular that I find _especially_ amusing."

Mrs. Fortescue then raised her glass in a toast to Daisy and Onslow. "To our brilliant authors!" she cheered, and the others heartily chimed in.

…

After two weeks, _False Impression _sold nine hundred copies, to the authors' delight. It wasn't a huge number, but, of course, great success wasn't to be expected right away—if ever.

Just a few days after the celebration dinner, while Daisy was signing their first check from the publisher, the telephone shrilled.

"I'll get it, Dais'!" Onslow shouted from downstairs.

"'Ello?" he said when he'd picked up the receiver. A familiar voice greeted him cheerfully.

"Ah, it's you, Vicar," Onslow said. "What's that? You want to talk to us about the book?"—a pause—"no, we'll come by your place. Don't trouble yourself! We'll come along in about an hour."

Onslow went upstairs to tell Daisy about the telephone call.

"The vicar wants to talk about the book?" Daisy said, and Onslow was slightly surprised that she sounded worried. "Onslow, maybe it was unkind to trick him like that. I keep feeling a bit guilty on occasion. I'd hate to have upset such a nice person."

Onslow shook his head in disagreement. "The vicar sounded friendly enough. He's not the kind of chap to get upset easily, and I don't think he'd be hard on us, even if he was."

Michael, to Daisy's relief, was smiling when he escorted her and Onslow into the Evanses' home. They were shown into the comfortable living room, where Daisy and Onslow each took an easy chair across from the vicar.

"Ally, our esteemed guests have arrived," Michael announced, and Alice looked up from where she was sitting on a nearby sofa.

"How lovely of you two to come," she said warmly. "Well, Daisy and Onslow, so we _did_ make an appearance! We're quite delighted!"

"_You're_ the ones who set up that false phone call!" the vicar said, pretending to sound accusatory.

Onslow, who felt suddenly obliged to admit his part in the setup, chimed in and said that he hoped their little joke hadn't caused any terrible inconvenience.

"Really, I'm not upset," Michael assured him.

"I'm glad we haven't caused you any great trouble," Daisy said. "But I would have been to blame if we had—it was my idea."

"Don't you worry, Daisy," Michael said lightly. He gave her one of his warm, charming smiles, and Onslow noted how foolishly Daisy smiled in return. This, for just a moment, gave him an odd feeling of annoyance. That 'dishy vicar' certainly had a powerful effect on women—even those who were sixty-odd years old, married, and living in a council house with someone self-proclaimed as 'work shy, bone idle and out of condition'!

With Michael's reassurance that he didn't mind Daisy and Onslow's little ploy, discussion of the book began. The Evanses were especially keen on learning how the book had been inspired, and what it had been like for Daisy and Onslow to take on such a big project. When the authors had answered all questions Alice read aloud her favorite scene.

_Reverend Jerry opened the door and was startled to see Florence standing before him, smiling broadly. With as genuine a smile as he could muster, he looked at his most notable parishioner and said, "Why Mrs. _Font_aine…sorry, Fon_taine_, what are you doing here?"_

_Florence smiled sweetly. "Every time I ring the vicarage, your wife says you're busy, but _I_ know what's really happening."_

_The vicar eyed Florence warily. "And that would be?"_

"_I know you want my help so much," Florence said, "but I'm certain you feel a little intimidated by my years of gracious and successful volunteerism! I figured if I came to your house and talked to you directly, you'd see that I'm quite a down-to-earth woman." _

_Reverend Jerry had a desperate desire to bolt inside and close the door, but he knew that it would be rude—even if it was Florence. Where was his wife, Blair, when he needed her? She was a little more tolerant of Mrs. Fontaine, and was excellent at relieving him of having to talk to Mrs. Fontaine. _

_Thus, the vicar bore Mrs. Fontaine's monologue as well as possible. To hurry her away, despite his misgivings, he numbly agreed that she could help organize the church's monthly visit to the residents of the local retirement home._

"I just have one criticism," Michael jested when his wife had finished reading. "I think you made my Alice's 'alter ego' much too nice."

"How _very_ kind of you," Alice pretended to chide.

Laughing, Daisy and Onslow bid farewell to the Evanses and left. Daisy, always a light-hearted soul, fairly danced back to the car. People loved their book! Perhaps word would spread and she and Onslow be known all over England! They'd have people begging them for autographs, sending them fan mail, demanding that they travel to London for a 'meet the authors' session…

Onslow, who'd also caught himself daydreaming, glanced at his wife and surmised that they were both having the same fantasy.

"Let's not get carried away, Dais'," he said sagely. "And let's not get too proud, either."

* * *

Surprise! I was bored and wanted to finish this chapter early :) The next chapter, which will be the last, will take a few more days. I want it to be just right (especially deciding what Hyacinth's reaction will be!)


	7. The Most Important Critic

In the end, _False Impressions_ had had moderate success, but after an extended printing, publication was stopped. Not enough copies sold to make it worth going into a second printing, but Daisy and Onslow were far from disappointed. They had gathered a small legion of fans, and had even gotten a few letters praising their work. It was rewarding to know that their months of hard work had paid off, and that they'd made some people laugh.

Besides, as Onslow pointed out, fame probably _wasn't_ everything.

"Maybe it's just as good that it didn't become a national sensation, Dais'," he said philosophically. "Being famous can't be easy. I think we'd enjoy just being the regular blokes we are now. Famous people always have to keep up appearances."

"That's very insightful, you old oaf," Daisy had playfully conceded.

The book had, however, earned them enough money that they could afford to move to an

apartment not too far from Heather Road. It was much more pleasant and airy than the council house, and Daisy even had room for a flower box on the balcony.

There were other surprising changes as well. Onslow, who now found his old lifestyle of loafing around and watching the telly dull after all that work writing the book, found a job as consultant at an electric supply shop; Daisy, who now enjoyed fiction beyond that of the paperback romance, started working as a cashier at a local bookstore. She frequently chatted with the customers about their selections, sometimes to a fault.

"It's strange, seeing that you're not so bone idle anymore," Daisy teased Onslow.

But before all that had happened, Hyacinth 'Bouquet' came to the council house to give them _her_ opinion of the book…

…

Just one week after the celebratory party, Daisy and Onslow were in the council house, writing a reply to a fan who'd sent a very funny and complimentary letter. They were interrupted when the heard Melly barking outside; long experience had taught Daisy and Onslow what that bark meant. The former flew to the window that overlooked the street and peeked between the curtains.

Hyacinth 'Bouquet', with Richard in her wake, had just walked between the two posts that had once secured a gate. She ignored Melly, who was doing her best to alarm Hyacinth. As for Daisy, it was she that was startled. She flew downstairs, nearly falling in the process, and opened the door with a bang.

"Goodness, Daisy, you startled me!" Hyacinth said; she was already standing on the doorstep. "You seem a bit tense, dear."

Daisy managed to calm down, and she ushered Hyacinth and Richard into the council house, closing the door behind them. She invited them to have some tea in the kitchen; Hyacinth was wary until she saw that it was, to her surprise, very clean.

"And we have some new cups. You don't have to drink out of those chipped mugs anymore, Hyacinth," Daisy chattered.

Just then, Onslow appeared and shuffled into the room. Hyacinth eyed his usual vest with an air of approval, but said nothing. She was even silent as she sat and waited for Daisy to serve the tea, but she did speak at last. Daisy swore afterward that it had been ten minutes until her sister had spoken, but Onslow insisted that it had been half that long. Then he'd gone into some monologue about Einstein and the theory of relativity in relation to time (he'd been watching Open University again).

"The characters and events in your novel," Hyacinth said slowly, "seem terribly familiar. Daisy, did you…base Florence on me? And are all the other characters representing people I know?"

Hyacinth's tone did not reveal any particular emotion, but Daisy lost her composure.

"We didn't mean any harm," she pleaded, wringing her hands in her nervousness. "It was just for fun. And we had a good laugh about the others, too—including _ourselves_. Don't be angry, sister dear. You're a good person, really."

Then Hyacinth said something completely unexpected.

"Maybe I _am_ a bit overbearing, sometimes."

Daisy and Onslow exchanged an amazed glance. To hear Hyacinth compliment the book had been the outcome they'd hoped for—but to hear Hyacinth admitting her faults! It was akin to hearing a politician admit to a lie; in other words, it had seemed almost impossible.

Hyacinth again assured her sister and her brother-in-law that she wasn't insulted; she even smiled and said cheerfully:

"These _are_ very funny stories. They made me realize that we all have to laugh at ourselves sometimes."

There was no doubt that Hyacinth meant what she said, and after her initial shock, Daisy threw her arms around her sister and hugged her.

"Thank you, Hyacinth! We _are_ glad you enjoyed it! Right, Onslow?"

Onslow, who'd been stunned by Hyacinth's admission that she could be 'a bit overbearing', came back to his senses and nodded enthusiastically, though he still could not speak.

Richard also had high praise for the book, but it was hard for him to slip a word in, as Hyacinth took up most of the conversation, mentioning her favorite bits, remarking on how well-written the story was, and guessing which characters represented the certain people she knew. She seemed especially entertained by the frank view of 'General Sherman', aka, the Major, especially one particular passage:

"_Come along then, fine lass!" the retired general entreated. "Oh, you're a buxom little minx!"_

_Florence tried to throw off his advances. Really, it was quite an honor to have a storied veteran at her formal dinners, but he _was_ quite a bother! 'Buxom little minx' indeed! She tried to make an excuse to, saying she had to go into the kitchen to fetch a cream cake out of the oven, but to no avail. General Sherman followed her into the kitchen.  
"I'll help you, you wholesome lady!" (Florence did not like the way in which he said 'wholesome lady')._

"_Oh, no, don't trouble yourself," Florence said hastily._

"_I'll get that cake out of the oven!" the general said. "We don't want your delicate hands to be burned! Now, don't argue, my lily-of-the-field, my pearl of great price."_

_That was enough for Florence. To put up with his awkward compliments had been testing her hospitality, but to use references to the Bible in this manner was too much! She could only imagine how horrified the vicar would be if he heard _that. _The usually proper, decorous lady gave the general a prompt kick to the shin!_

"_Why you—little devil!" General Sherman exclaimed. "That's the knee I injured in the war, it is! I didn't expect such behavior from _you_!"_

"_Good," Florence said mildly. "You'll get it worse if you keep pursuing me like that."_

_This was so unlike Florence's usual restrained hospitality that the general flounced out of the kitchen and stomped violently through the living room, causing the gathered guests to startle. There was a loud bang as he left the house, slamming the door behind him._

Hyacinth wondered aloud why the book hadn't sold more copies.

"It's just not right," she said. "I _do_ wonder sometimes if people know what _good_ literature is."

Daisy hid a smile. Now, _that_ sounded very 'Hyacinthian'—an airy tone and a good measure of italics for emphasis, but she knew the words were well-intended. Daisy quickly assured her sister that it was being published at all, and amusing people, that was all worth it. Daisy, Onslow, Hyacinth, and Richard then spent a merry hour talking about the book, and reciting their favorite bits. Before leaving the council house, Hyacinth had mused, quite seriously:

"I wonder if a television comedy series based on this book would be successful."

* * *

**Hi! I finished this story early because I wanted to concentrate on some original works as well as a non-KUA fic that people have been asking me to update. I hope to write a final KUA fic in the future, one starring Liz :) Thank you again to my lovely reviewers!  
**

_This story is dedicated to all the KUA cast, especially Judy Cornwell and Mary Millar (with all due respect to Shirley Stelfox) who truly were like sisters in 'real life', and to Geoffrey Hughes. Mary and Geoffrey may be "gone'" now, but they truly live on through the characters we love and remember._


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